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Romance is literally the last thing you’re wanting right now. Why do you care?
I don’t, I reassure myself, stabbing at the suds with a spatula.
It had just been a little hard for my feminine ego to witness the way the man’s lip curled and his nose wrinkled. Like the mere thought of taking me to bed gave him stomach pains.
I’m often told I’m beautiful. By family, by friends, and by random strangers in the park who want to know what movie they recognize me from.
But I’d thought I’d escaped the ego that came with such things. My looks are no achievement of mine. My father, a relatively handsome man, had fallen for an ex-model and old money socialite. Mother had done print work for years before she moved her focus into charities. The combination of two attractive people had given me an aesthetic advantage in life. Only blind luck had made me their child instead of someone else’s.
I’m far prouder of my ability to pit stop a rally bike in under seven seconds than I am about the accident of how my face looks.
Maybe I’m a little too used to the way men treat me. How they react when they meet me. Like Jace had this morning. Bright eyes, warm smiles, and body language that speaks of an instinctive interest.
Caleb turns to stone around me. Like the ground has fastened him to the spot. Like my very presence causes him to instantly break into a rash. A very itchy rash.
If that’s how he sees me, then it makes sense that he’d be so offended at Jace’s comment.
Caleb must be putting up with a lot to let me stay in his home.
East River Forge is a small town. The kind of place where two unmarried adults can’t stay under the same roof without tongues wagging. Jace’s comment had proven that after only one night.
But Caleb had opened his doors again. Only to discover that he was opening them to a lunatic who raises his roof and dirties his dishes.
I sigh. Great work, Lizzie… Brilliant first impression.
It all makes me wonder, why is he putting up with me? Judging from his home, Caleb lives simply. And privately. Why he’s willing to compromise that for a little extra cash, I have no idea. Looking over the bubbling pots, I can at least hope that a home-cooked meal will go some way to recouping the poor guy’s losses.
Given I can’t exactly go back to New York, I know he’s saving me from a whole lot of heartache. That has to be worth peeling a few potatoes.
“I said I’d make something when I’d washed up.”
Keeping my eyes on the dishes I’m washing, I smile at Caleb’s tone. Three parts confused, offended, and pleasantly surprised.
“Well, now you don’t have to,” I tell him, rinsing off the last of the prep work. With bubbles on my hands, I turn for a hand towel. “I figured it was the least I could—Oh m—Ah, dammit!”
“What?”
“Nothing! Nothing…” Nothing but me being a complete idiot.
With the door behind me, I hadn’t glanced at Caleb until I’d gone for the towel to dry my hands. And now I realize his almost total lack of clothing. My lips pop open and my hand flies to my chest. Only to drench my boobs in dirty sink water.
“Mother…” I grumble, blotting at my chest.
“You okay?”
He’s not directly laughing. I’ve barely seen Caleb crack so much as a smile in the last twenty-four hours, let alone a chuckle. But there’s an edge to his words. A secretive humor that tells me he’s laughing at me.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say, easy-breezy, as I dab ineffectively at my chest with the towel. I shiver as several streams of bubbles run down my cleavage. First the dancing and now this? “It would have just been nice to have a heads up on how many times I was going to humiliate myself this evening. You know, to be pre-prepared.”
The next second, a full-bodied chuckle, deep and warming, has me looking up in surprise. And the vision of a half-naked Caleb Walker is once more front and center in my vision.
“Hey, you actually do laugh.” Heat flushes me as I realize my voice sounds strained. Like I’m a high school girl catching her first glimpse of male nudity.
I instantly wish I’d kept quiet. Pointing out his laughter seems to have killed it. Caleb’s brows drop in a frown, and he folds his arms across his very solid, very defined, and very naked chest.
“I’ve laughed,” he corrects me.
“No,” I swallow, hoping he might assume my breathlessness to be the result of the washing-up suds. “You do those little snorts through your nose. But you don’t actually laugh. Not till now.”
